


Death is a Friend of Mine

by Bedalk05



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Death likes music pass it on, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: Jaskier shudders as Death hums once again. YOU ARE QUITE THE ENTERTAINER LITTLE BARD, and beneath the echoing screams and cries in that voice Jaskier could swear he could catch a hint of humor. BUT ARE YOU NOT TIRED? I SEE YOUR SOUL LITTLE ONE. SPENDING EACH DAY BESIDE A MAN WHO CASTS YOU ASIDE SO EASILY. DON’T YOU WISH TO REST?Jaskier swallows past the lump in his throat, breathes through the painful twist of his heart. “That is one of the reasons I wish to live, Your Greatness,” Jaskier explains, fiddling with the lute’s strings. “He needs me.”In which Jaskier dies and attempts to barter for his life. He didn't expect Death to accept his proposal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 79
Kudos: 949
Collections: The Best Fics I've Read





	Death is a Friend of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by this brilliant tumblr post: https://trashbaggage.tumblr.com/post/621175009044529152/possibilities-for-immortaljaskier

Well this is a bit of an anti-climax. Jaskier has often thought about how he might die. Most of his imaginings involved being mauled by some monster Geralt was fighting or being stabbed by an irate cuckold. Not this. So plain, so dull, so bland. Not the makings of a good ballad at all. 

Sighing as he looks at the arrows lodged in his chest, Jaskier slumps against a tree. Bloody bandits. He watches mournfully as one member of the gang examines his precious lute before slinging it on his back, muttering about fetching a good price for it. His poor girl, suffering under the grimy hands of these beasts. 

Jaskier takes a moment to wonder if Geralt will go looking for him. Will he feel a hint of sorrow when he can’t find Jaskier? Well, that’s none of Jaskier’s concern. Nothing is Jaskier’s concern anymore. 

He watches numbly as the bandits and surrounding forest fade to be replaced with blinding light. A cloaked figure pulsing with a power that sparks in the air approaches Jaskier’s prone form. “So this is it?” Jaskier muses. No answer. Jaskier peers into dark eyes that reflect eternities and worlds beyond Jaskier’s imaginings. Yet there is a kindness glittering in them too. “I don’t suppose we could make a bargain?” Jaskier proposes as he eyes the intimidating scythe in the figure’s right hand. Death has almost reached him and a heavy layer of dread curdles in Jaskier's gut. He knows what comes next. 

WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY TRADE THAT I WOULD NEED LITTLE ONE? a voice booms. Neither male nor female, not angry nor happy, the voice echoes in Jaskier’s eardrums. He can't help shrinking away from how it sucks out the non-existent air in the non-existent room. 

Licking his lips Jaskier shrugs weakly. “I am nothing but a humble bard. I can offer you music to entertain your days.” His attempt at a smile is more like a grimace. The figure halts though and Jaskier leans back as the scythe stops an inch from his face. 

A cloaked head tilts, eyes narrow. MUSIC? 

Straightening with a wince Jaskier says, “Yes my lord. My lady? Your Excellence?” When he receives no response Jaskier shakes his head to clear it. “Alas, my lute has been stolen but if I find a replacement I shall fill your days with the most delightful music. Provided you spare me?” 

The hum that emanates from the hood is nothing like Geralt’s. This one rumbles like an avalanche, vibrates like an earthquake. Jaskier blinks when he finds his lute back in his hands and Death settles into a chair they have summoned. PLAY FOR ME LITTLE BARD. LET ME SEE WHAT YOU ARE MADE OF. Jaskier sits frozen, a low buzzing in his ears. Fuck. He might actually have a chance to survive. 

He racks his brain for what to sing that could get this ethereal and all powerful being before him to spare his life. Then the most perfect song flows into his head. Jaskier grins. Ignoring the phantom pain still stabbing his chest despite the lack of a visible injury, Jaskier stands and begins to sing. 

_Oh, somewhere down the road  
Well, there’s a ditch or there’s a hole  
That marks the spot where you will lie when you are cold  
And you can run and you can hide  
And you can bitch and you whine  
But you’ll never save your life_

Imagining a tavern full of eager patrons, Jaskier flounces through the space of utter whiteness, basking in the melody and studiously avoiding the heavy gaze before him.

_When you meet death_  
_Be out of breath_  
_And say you’re pleased to meet ‘em_  
_‘cause you’re tired_

Jaskier sings through the whole song, finding for the first time that he’s not running out of breath as he spins and speeds through the faster verses. He finishes with an elaborate flourish and stands before Death themself, staring into those unreadable and infinite eyes. 

Jaskier shudders as Death hums once again. YOU ARE QUITE THE ENTERTAINER LITTLE BARD, and beneath the echoing screams and cries in that voice Jaskier could swear he could catch a hint of humor. BUT ARE YOU NOT TIRED? I SEE YOUR SOUL LITTLE ONE. SPENDING EACH DAY BESIDE A MAN WHO CASTS YOU ASIDE SO EASILY. DON’T YOU WISH TO REST?

Jaskier swallows past the lump in his throat, breathes through the painful twist of his heart. “That is one of the reasons I wish to live Your Greatness,” Jaskier explains, fiddling with the lute’s strings. “He needs me.” 

NEEDS YOU? DID HE NOT ONCE SAY HE NEEDS NOTHING AND NO ONE? DID HE NOT BANISH YOU FROM HIS SIDE UPON THAT MOUNTAINTOP? 

Jaskier scowls, slipping the lute onto his back and crossing his arms. “Listen Your Know-it-allness,” he snaps. “You may claim to be all seeing and all knowing but you know fuck all about Geralt if you think that he was being honest when he said that in the bath." Stepping closer to that looming sign of his imminent doom Jaskier stabs a finger at Death. "And you know even less if you think he truly meant it when he pushed me away.” That great head tilts once again, and Jaskier swallows in the face of that gaze that presses against his eardrums and eyelids as he registers the fact that he just lectured Death themself. 

I LIKE YOU LITTLE BIRD, that voice muses amidst the sound of rain falling and fire roaring. I LIKE YOUR MUSIC AND YOUR FIRE. I SHALL MAKE YOU A BARGAIN. YOU WILL LIVE AS LONG AS YOU PLAY FOR ME EVERY FORTNIGHT AT MY SUMMONING. A bony hand reaches out under the cloak. DO WE HAVE A DEAL? 

Jaskier gapes at the hand, unable to believe he’s actually convinced Death to spare him. Thrusting his arm out to eagerly shake Death’s hand, Jaskier shivers as a tingling caress traces a path up his arm and through his chest, a warmth glowing around his wound. “Deal,” he stammers out with a shaky grin. A smile that is not kind and not cruel crosses the cloaked face. Jaskier blinks, and when he opens his eyes again he is in a field, the bandits who had killed him lying prone on the ground. Looking down, Jaskier stares with amazement at the healed wound beneath his torn doublet, his lute firmly in his hands. Standing with a stretch, Jaskier grins. Well that worked out surprisingly well.

*******

Of course, when Jaskier inevitably runs into Geralt, a certain missing princess is trailing beside the witcher. And of course, Geralt stumbles through an apology that Jaskier readily accepts before joining the pair on their travels. And things go back to normal. Well-except for one thing.

LITTLE BIRD a voice like thunder and the whisper of wind echoes in his mind. Jaskier blinks open his eyes blearily from where he’s sprawled across Geralt’s chest on their shared bed. (Coin is tight with an extra mouth to feed.) 

“Mhuh?” he mumbles, feeling Geralt stir beneath him. 

OUR DEAL? A voice like a bird’s song and a lion’s roar prompts. 

“Ah right right,” Jaskier yawns, slipping out of bed. 

An arm slithers out from under the sheets to grab his hand. Turning, Jaskier blinks at the single golden eye glaring at him. “Where are you going?” Geralt rasps. 

Clearing his sleep-fogged mind Jaskier stammers, “Well- there was a lovely barmaid I was hoping to bed once her shift has ended.” He’s not sure how to read the expression crossing Geralt’s face. Probably irritation at being woken just so Jaskier could meet with a paramour. Once his hand is released and Geralt closes his eyes again, Jaskier throws on a doublet and some trousers before snatching his lute. 

Slipping out of the room and closing the door softly behind him Jaskier stalls. “Um- where do I go now?” he asks the air. 

THE TAVERN SHALL BE EMPTY. YOU MIGHT AS WELL PERFORM IN THE LOCATION YOU ARE USED TO, YES? Smiling at the thoughtful gesture and attempting not to freak out at the fact that he’s chatting with Death in his head, Jaskier slinks out of the silent inn and heads to the tavern. As expected, not only is it empty, but the door is coincidentally unlocked and candles are lit throughout the room. And in the corner cradling some ale is Death incarnate. They look the same, cloaked with their scythe propped up against the bar. Dark eyes gleam underneath the hood, not menacing and not inviting. 

Helping himself to some ale in order to get some liquid courage, Jaskier smiles winningly at Death. “Any requests tonight?” he asks. 

A bony hand waves through the air lazily. WHATEVER SUITS YOUR MOOD LITTLE BIRD. Strumming his lute idly, Jaskier hums as he tries to decide on the best song to entertain Death. Well, everyone likes an amusing ditty. When Jaskier launches into Fishmonger’s Daughter, he could swear he spots a smile beneath that cloaked cowl. Falling into the usual comfort his lute and singing bring, Jaskier flits around the empty tavern, stomping his feet and singing to an imagined audience as he plays through his most entertaining songs. When he finishes his third song, sweat trailing down his temple, Jaskier turns to ask for any requests. 

Before he can get the question out however, Death speaks again. HOW IS YOUR WITCHER AND PRINCESS? 

Fumbling a note Jaskier stares at the figure before him. Is Death truly engaging in idle chatter? “Um. They’re good. Well, Ciri is understandably traumatized and Geralt is his usual gruff self but they’re good.” 

When Death hums Jaskier feels the sound vibrate in his bones. YES, I COLLECTED MANY SOULS WHEN CINTRA FELL. ‘TWAS A PITY. SO MANY LIGHTS SNUFFED OUT. SO MUCH POTENTIAL. 

The question slips out before he can stop himself. “If you didn’t save any of them why save me?” 

Having the full weight of those depthless eyes upon him causes a chill to skitter down Jaskier's back. WHEN PEOPLE ASK TO BARTER IT’S OFTEN TO TRADE A LIFE FOR A LIFE OR TO OFFER RICHES AND LAND. I’VE NEVER HAD SOMEONE VOLUNTEER ENTERTAINMENT. When Death tilts their head they look like a crow studying something shiny. YOU INTEREST ME LITTLE BIRD. Jaskier swallows, unsure if it’s exactly a good thing to interest Death. Yet again, said intrigue is the reason Jaskier is currently alive so he supposes he can’t complain. 

Bowing slightly Jaskier whispers, “You honor me with your favor Your Darkness.” 

DO YOU PLAN TO TELL YOUR WITCHER HOW YOU FEEL ONE DAY? Jaskier jolts up to stare at Death with shock and apprehension. “I-” his mouth remains gaping open, no words coming out. MORTALS ARE FASCINATING, that voice as old as the mountains and as new as a babe muses. SO MUCH IN THIS WORLD TO FEAR YET ONE OF THE THINGS YOU FEAR THE MOST IS REJECTION. Jaskier only blinks dumbly. Is Death truly commenting on his relationship status? I HAVE CLAIMED FAR TOO MANY SOULS WHO WERE TOO AFRAID TO SPEAK WHAT LIES IN THEIR HEART. I WOULD HATE TO SEE YOU JOIN THEIR MISERY LITTLE BIRD, Death remarks, kindness trailing through the sounds of millions of voices wailing. As Death flickers away, Jaskier stares at the space they had lounged in. Did Death just give him relationship advice? 

What the fuck.

*******

“Again?” Jaskier sighs exasperatedly, glaring at the Nilfgaardian sword currently lodged in his chest. Falling back with a wince, Jaskier distantly registers an agonized yell through the agony coursing through his body. How has he gone decades with only being lightly stabbed and now in the span of a year he’s died twice? Well, at least this time he can say goodbye to Geralt. Speaking of, the witcher has fallen to his knees before Jaskier, eyes wild and face bloody as he struggles to stem the bleeding. 

Jaskier reaches out his arm to grasp Geralt’s frantic hand. “Hey-look at me.” Grief-stricken golden eyes blink up at him and Jaskier smiles softly. “Some may call this an inopportune moment-I did have a more suitable confession planned-but I’d rather not die before saying I love you.” Jaskier barely has time to soak up the look of shock and awe that crosses the Witcher’s face before Geralt, Ciri, and the world fades away. “Hello again,” Jaskier sighs, gazing up at the being he just performed for a week ago. 

LITTLE BARD YOU MUST BE MORE CAREFUL, a voice like a summer breeze and the ocean’s tide chastises. 

Before Jaskier can respond he blinks and finds himself cradled in sturdy arms. “Oh. Huh,” he says to himself, mind reeling at this revelation. So when Death said Jaskier will live as long as he plays for them Death meant "for as long" and not "if." Well, that's nice to know. 

Jaskier releases an unceremonious oof as he’s dropped and finds himself gazing up at confused and furious eyes looming over him. “What the fuck are you?” Geralt hisses, unsheathing his silver sword with trembling hands. 

“Um. A humble bard?” Jaskier squeaks.

“Geralt what are you doing?” Ciri cries from where she’s curled up beside the witcher, tears still flowing from her eyes.

“He should be dead,” Geralt grunts, not taking his gaze off of Jaskier. 

Hands raised Jaskier stammers, “Right, yeah about that. See I may or may not have befriended Death and we have a sort of arrangement going on that frankly I didn’t realize included immortality but which I obviously won’t complain about but I don’t know how happy they’ll be if I return so soon after being sent back?” 

Geralt’s hand slackens with each of Jaskier’s words until the sword is lowered to the ground. “You befriended _Death?”_ Geralt asks incredulously. 

Huffing, Jaskier crosses his arms. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very likable person. And they happen to enjoy my music unlike _some,”_ he adds with a pointed glare. 

Geralt slowly shakes his head before releasing a rumbling laugh that soon shakes through his whole body. “Only you Jaskier,” he gasps. “Only you would make friends with bloody Death incarnate.”

Jaskier grins, relieved that he won’t find himself impaled by another sword. Once was enough for today. “They make quite enjoyable company,” Jaskier admits with a shrug. Reaching out an arm, Jaskier is hauled up by Geralt, stumbling and only stopping himself with a hand on Geralt’s chest. They stare at each other, Jaskier following the movement of Geralt’s throat as the witcher swallows.

A gloved and bloody hand lifts Jaskier’s chin so blue eyes meet gold. “Did you mean that? What you said?” 

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to gulp. “Well-” there is so much he could say to save them both the trouble. But he thinks about all the conversations he’s held with Death about love and loss and missed opportunities over the past few months. He takes a deep breath. “Yes, I did.” 

Jaskier is not expecting to find his lips claimed in a hungry kiss, but he certainly knows how to respond. With a soft whimper, Jaskier tangles his fingers in Geralt’s hair and returns the kiss with a fervor he has spent decades trying to control. But not anymore. Sighing, Jaskier releases the passion, adoration, _love_ he’s hidden for so long and gasps when he finds every emotion returned in the form of roughened lips and a greedy tongue. 

They’re both distracted however by a polite throat clearing. Pulling apart, Jaskier and Geralt turn to where Ciri is watching them, arms crossed and eyes twinkling. “As much as I’m overjoyed that you two have gotten your heads out of your arses even if that means I owe Yennefer a gold coin, perhaps we could migrate away from the dead bodies and find an inn?” 

Blinking at the corpses scattered around, Jaskier nods, straightening up his doublet and sighing when he sees its ruined state. “If they can bring me back to life you’d think they could restore my clothing to proper health too,” Jaskier grumbles. A moment later Jaskier finds the jagged hole in his doublet and chemise sewn shut. Grinning Jaskier says to the air, “Just for that I’ll perform for you weekly Your Marvelousness.” 

Wiping off his sword Geralt rumbles, “Later you and I are going to have a long conversation about how the fuck you managed to befriend Death.”

“Will said conversation occur without any clothes?” Jaskier inquires with a bat of his eyelashes. 

As he revels in the slight reddening of Geralt’s ears, Jaskier hears a disgusted sound behind him. “Ugh, I’m right here you know,” Ciri complains. 

“Don’t worry my dear we’ll get you a separate room,” Jaskier says distractedly, openly admiring Geralt as he bends down now that he has permission to. After decades of pining he has Geralt at last. Who knew dying was all it would take? 

*******

Jaskier is thoroughly enjoying a late night fuck with the love of his life when a voice like the the laughing of children and the clanging of swords echoes in his mind. I BELIEVE YOU PROMISED ONCE A WEEK LITTLE BIRD?

Pausing from where he is currently thrusting into a wonderfully pliant witcher Jaskier huffs out an exasperated breath. “I am a bit preoccupied right now Your Boner Killer,” he growls, brushing a lock of hair out of hazy and confused golden eyes. 

I’M WAITING LITTLE BARD. 

Hissing several muttered curses, Jaskier regretfully pulls out. “Apologies my love. Duty awaits in the form of a smug and irritating ethereal being."

“Please don’t insult Death,” Geralt mumbles, rubbing his face tiredly. 

Pressing a soft kiss to Geralt’s forehead, Jaskier dresses briskly. “Don’t stay up dear heart. Death likes to chat.” And fitting his lute over his head, Jaskier strolls out of the room to where Death awaits with some ale and infinite stories to tell. 

**Author's Note:**

> The song Jaskier sings is "Out of Breath" by Frank Turner


End file.
